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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23850187">that dizzy edge</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/leetheshark/pseuds/leetheshark'>leetheshark</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Sinner (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alcohol, Bar fights, Canon-Typical Toxic Relationship, Canonical Character Death, College, Cutting, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, M/M, Pining, Relationship Study, Sexual Content, Suicidal Thoughts, canon-typical manipulation</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-04-26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-04-26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-02 20:55:34</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Major Character Death</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>12,807</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23850187</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/leetheshark/pseuds/leetheshark</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>It wasn’t just one time.</p><p>(Or: what really happened in college.)</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Jamie Burns/Leela Burns (minor), Jamie Burns/Nick Haas</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>53</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>that dizzy edge</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Ever since the accident, lying to Leela comes easier and easier.</p><p>Things like <i>I’m fine</i> and <i>I can’t wait to have our baby</i> and <i>I love you.</i> Those are the lies Jamie tells aloud. The other ones are all folded up in that pretending act he’s been doing his entire life. (Or since college, anyway.)</p><p>So when Leela asks Jamie if he thinks Nick was in love with him, Jamie puts on a dismissive front without a second thought. “No, it was never like that.”</p><p>With a smile on her lips, Leela asks, “Why not?”</p><p>“Because it wasn’t.”</p><p>Jamie doesn’t want to talk about it, but he’s so used to hiding his hurt (and everything else) by now that he keeps rubbing her feet and doesn’t let anything show. “Really?” Leela presses. “No… college moment? No experimenting between friends? Nothing?”</p><p>“Okay, if you really wanna know…”</p><p>“Yes, I wanna know.”</p><p>“Yeah,” Jamie confesses. It’s only a half-truth. “Yeah, there was this one time. It didn’t work. For either of us.”</p><p>Leela’s into that, and Jamie’s lucky, because it distracts her long enough to stop asking questions about who Nick really was to Jamie. Jamie’s never told anyone what Nick really meant.</p><p>It’s not that he’s ashamed—but Leela wouldn’t understand. No one would understand. Nick is a secret Jamie’s keeping close to his heart, and he’s taking it with him to the grave.<br/>
</p>
<hr/><p><br/>
<i>“When two people relate to each other authentically and humanly, God is the electricity that surges between them.” – Martin Buber</i>
</p><p> </p><p>October, 2001.</p><p> </p><p>“I just thought—”</p><p>“Can God create a rock he can’t lift?”</p><p>Jamie’s never been so relieved to be interrupted.</p><p>“Yeah, Thomas Aquinas is not on the syllabus for this class.”</p><p>“Can you answer the question?”</p><p>“Mr. Haas—"</p><p>As the boy sitting across from Jamie launches into his explanation, all the eyes in the classroom turn to him. “If you answer yes, then there exists in the world a rock that God can’t lift. Ergo, he’s not all powerful.”</p><p>Jamie’s noticed him before, with his dark clothes and messy hair, always hunched over his notebook with a pen held in thin, fidgeting fingers. He’s spoken up a few times in class before, but never in the same discussion as Jamie.</p><p>“Answer no, and he can’t create such a rock—again, not all powerful. So, the very idea of an all-powerful God is a human creation, and a flawed one at that.” He finishes with a tight-lipped smile, a matter-of-fact demonstration of confidence, before turning back to his notebook.</p><p>Nods and giggles pass around the classroom. Jamie looks down at the table, hiding his grin.</p><p>“Alright. Enough trick questions. Let’s return to Kierkegaard…”</p><p>When Jamie looks up again, it’s with soft appreciation, offering a smile across the table. The boy’s gaze flicks up to meet Jamie’s. The corner of his mouth twitches in a sort-of-smile, just before he turns his eyes back to his notes again.<br/>
</p>
<hr/><p><br/>
<i>“Hey!”</i>
</p><p>Jamie halts outside the classroom doorway, hands shoved in his jacket pockets. It’s the boy from class.</p><p>“Jamie, right? Jamie Burns?”</p><p>“Yeah,” Jamie says. “Hi. I don’t think I caught your name.”</p><p>“Nick Haas.” The boy looks up into Jamie’s eyes, his own dark and severe, only breaking away when one of their classmates bursts through the door and jostles past him.</p><p>“Right. Yeah. Thanks for having my back in there.”</p><p>“It’s cool. You know what you’re talking about.”</p><p>“Really?”</p><p>“Yeah, you were onto something. Besides, that guy’s a hack.”</p><p>Jamie laughs, looking down at the floor. “Have you studied this before?”</p><p>“A little bit, yeah.”</p><p>“We should study together sometime. If you want.”</p><p>“Yeah, okay.” Nick’s smile is crooked and a little captivating. “Hey, what are you doing right now?”</p><p>“Oh, I was just going back to my room. You wanna hang out?”</p><p>Nick shrugs. “Sure. If we stop by mine, I can bring whiskey. If you’re into that.”</p><p>A smile spreads across Jamie’s face that he couldn’t hold back if he wanted to. Self-conscious, he drops his eyes to the ground, but they flick back up to Nick in a second. “Yeah, I’m into that.”<br/>
</p>
<hr/><p><br/>
“What are you gonna do after college?” Nick asks spontaneously, bent over the pool table in the honors lounge, deadly-concentrated as he lines up his shot. In the past few weeks, he and Jamie have fallen into their own, comfortable rituals—lunch in the dining hall before philosophy class, pool or video games in the student center a few times a week, getting drunk in Jamie’s room whenever they feel like it.</p><p>(On the topic of video games, Nick abhors “mindless entertainment” only so far as it applies to the things other people like. Get a controller in his hands, and he has as much of a competitive streak as anybody.)</p><p>Jamie leans against the nearby wall, his own stick propped up between the wooden floor and his clasped hands. He watches Nick’s hands: the right one, palm flat against the table, shaft of the pool stick steadied between Nick’s thumb and forefinger; the left, clasped loosely around the other end of the stick as Nick pulls it back. “I might teach,” Jamie says.</p><p>“Yeah?” Nick takes his shot. The ball he was eyeing rolls into a corner pocket. “That’s what you want to do?”</p><p>“I mean, I guess.” Jamie walks around to the opposite end of the table and starts to line up his shot. He has solids; Nick has stripes.</p><p>“You guess?”</p><p>“I mean, it seems like a good path for me. I don’t know.” Jamie shoots and misses, sending a striped ball tumbling into a side pocket. “Ah, shit.”</p><p>“Jamie, Jamie, Jamie.” Nick sidles along the edge of the pool table, choosing his next mark. “So you don’t really want to teach,” he says, taking his next shot. His ball barely misses the hole, glancing off the edge. “You just feel like you’re supposed to.”</p><p>“It’s not like that.”</p><p>Nick looks up, eyebrows raised. Jamie feels oddly scrutinized. He thinks about it while he takes his turn, Nick waiting silently beside him. He botches this one, too. <i>Shit.</i></p><p>“Okay,” Jamie admits, finally. “Maybe it’s a little like that.”</p><p>“That’s your problem. You want to do what everyone expects you to.”</p><p>“Hey.”</p><p>“It’s not your fault. Everyone’s like that.” Nick lines up his next shot, eyes totally focused on the table as he rambles on. “Everyone thinks they have to, but they don’t. And they get so caught up in what other people think that they don’t think for themselves. They’re basically fucking zombies.”</p><p>Nick knocks in two balls at once, rising from the table with a smirk. He backs away to give Jamie space. While Jamie tries to line up his shot, determined to get something this time, Nick pipes up again. “No offense, man, but you suck at this.”</p><p>“Offense taken, asshole.”</p><p>“Here.” Nick props his stick up against the wall, then steps close and leans over Jamie, his chest against Jamie’s back. He takes both of Jamie’s hands, placing one flat against the table and wrapping the fingers of the other around Jamie’s stick. “This okay?”</p><p>Jamie shakes his head, laughing softly, even though his heart beats wildly in his chest. “Whatever.”</p><p>“So anyway,” Nick says, lining up Jamie’s shot for him, his mouth just below Jamie’s ear as he speaks. “What I’m saying is, there’s something hidden inside you, that if you let it out, that’s the real Jamie. Not <i>Jamie Burns, history major</i> or <i>Jamie Burns, honor student</i> or <i>Jamie Burns, track star.</i> And I think the whole point of our chaotic, fucked-up existence is to find the real us, you know? Otherwise, why even live?”</p><p>Nick sinks one of Jamie’s solid balls, then gets off of him, moving around the table to take his own shot. Jamie has to take a minute to collect himself. <i>Shit.</i></p><p>As Nick’s words marinate in him, the only thing Jamie can think to say is, “How’d you know I ran track?”</p><p>“Saw the trophy in your room.”</p><p>Jamie smiles down at the floor. “Creep.”</p><p>Nick exhales a laugh, shaking his head. His messy black curls shiver in the sunlight coming in, and Jamie’s smile lingers just a little longer.<br/>
</p>
<hr/><p><br/>
November, 2001.</p><p> </p><p>Nick’s room is pretty much the same as Jamie’s—so are all the dorms—except his bed’s on the right side, and the walls of his side of the room are plastered with posters of bands Jamie only kind of knows. Nick has a CD player on his nightstand, and a rack of CDs on his bookshelf; the rest of the bookshelf is filled with books Jamie hasn’t read, but whose authors he recognizes anyway, just from talking to Nick.</p><p>The first time Jamie sees Nick’s room is the first day they meet, when Nick stops by for his contraband whiskey on their way to Jamie’s. Jamie’s been there a few times, since. Nick’s roommate is around more often than Jamie’s. It just makes sense to hang out in Jamie’s room instead.</p><p>The first time Jamie spends the night is his twentieth birthday—or, technically, the day after, since it’s past midnight when they get back—and they stumble home together after getting sloshed at the local bar. Nick’s birthday present for Jamie was a fake ID and the first three of his drinks. They end up in Nick’s room because his building is closer to the bus stop. Nick’s roommate is away, spending the night with his girlfriend, leaving Nick and Jamie free reign.</p><p>Jamie can only stand up straight long enough to collapse, face-first, into Nick’s bed. The unmade sheets are scratchy against his cheek. They smell like laundry detergent, and a little like Nick. Nick flops down next to him, rolling over until they’re just inches apart. There’s something comforting—to Jamie’s whiskey-blurred mind—in the dip of the mattress beneath him when Nick rolls close, and the solid warmth of Nick’s body, close enough to reach out and touch if Jamie wanted to.</p><p>Nick gets up without warning, kneeling on the bed and steadying himself with a hand on Jamie’s back as he reaches over Jamie for the bookshelf. In the near-silent room, Jamie hears the click of a CD case opening, the whirr of the CD player’s tray ejecting, another click when Nick pushes the tray back in, and a few more as he skips to the right song.</p><p>As the instrumental starts to play, Nick settles back into bed, patting the rhythm sloppily against his thighs. Jamie thinks he’s heard this song before, maybe on the radio.</p><p> </p><p>
  <i>Show me, show me, show me how you do that trick</i>
</p><p>
  <i>The one that makes me scream, she said</i>
</p><p>
  <i>The one that makes me laugh, she said</i>
</p><p>
  <i>Threw her arms around my neck</i>
</p><p>
  <i>Show me how you do it and I’ll promise you</i>
</p><p>
  <i>I’ll promise that I’ll run away with you</i>
</p><p>
  <i>I’ll run away with you…</i>
</p><p> </p><p>Lying in Nick’s bed, being in Nick’s space, listening to Nick’s music—it makes Jamie feel alive in a way that the alcohol can’t tamp down. His face still planted in the sheets, Jamie peeks up sideways at Nick. Nick’s lying on his back, hands folded over his stomach, gazing at Jamie with a twitch of a smile on his lips.</p><p>Jamie’s heart leaps. He turns his face back into the mattress before he does something he regrets.</p><p> </p><p>
  <i>Spinning on that dizzy edge</i>
</p><p>
  <i>Kissed her face and kissed her head</i>
</p><p>
  <i>Dreamed of all the different ways, I had to make her glow</i>
</p><p>
  <i>Why are you so far away? she said</i>
</p><p>
  <i>Why won’t you ever know that I’m in love with you?</i>
</p><p>
  <i>That I’m in love with you?</i>
</p><p>
  <i>You, soft and only you, lost and lonely…</i><br/>
</p>
<hr/><p><br/>
It’s nearly two months since Jamie met Nick—two months of reading Nietzsche in Jamie’s bed and passing notes under the table in class and Jamie falling harder than he ever has before, because Nick gets it, Nick gets it all—when Thanksgiving rolls around and Jamie finds out his parents (“parents”) don’t want him to come home. Big fucking surprise.</p><p>Jamie’s coming closer and closer to accepting with the probability that they’re only paying his tuition to get rid of him. And it’s not like he wanted to go to the Amalfi Coast, or even spend Thanksgiving with them at home, but it stings. Nearly ten years of the same shit, twenty if Jamie counts when Mom was still around, and it still fucking stings.</p><p>So when Nick offers to stay with Jamie over Thanksgiving break, and doesn’t even give Jamie a choice, Jamie feels warm in a way he hasn’t in a while.</p><p>Jamie’s had close friends before, sure, and he’s had feelings for a few—but he’s never had anyone he liked as much as Nick, and he’s never had anyone who listened so much or knew so much. When he’s with Nick, Jamie wouldn’t rather be anywhere else.</p><p>Especially not the Amalfi fucking Coast.<br/>
</p>
<hr/><p><br/>
Jamie’s heart hasn’t stopped pounding since he jumped from the bridge.</p><p>He gets it now, why Nick said what he said. <i>“The only reason I was able to jump was because you were there with me.”</i></p><p>Nick jumped already. He doesn’t need to do it again. But he does, because this is Jamie’s time, and Jamie needs him.</p><p>“You wanna stay here tonight?” Jamie asks when they get back to his dorm, both still shivering, both still alive.</p><p>Nick runs hands through his stringy-wet hair, splattering water over the carpet. He shrugs. “Yeah, why not.”</p><p>“Cool. Cool.” Jamie shakes his head, hoping it’ll release some of his nervous energy. It doesn’t. “I think I’m gonna shower.”</p><p>“Yeah, I should too. Could I borrow some clothes?”</p><p>“Yeah, ‘course.”</p><p>Jamie pulls two sets of clothes and two towels from his dresser, then grabs his shower caddy on the way out. Down the hall to the bathroom, it’s lucky there’s no one around to see them in their sopping wet clothes. People have gotten expelled for trying to jump into that river—the ones that survived, anyway—and Jamie doesn’t need to get expelled, <i>thank you very much.</i></p><p>(Although, if anyone saw, they probably wouldn’t care. Nick said that, once—that most people only pay attention to themselves, and don’t give a shit what you do as long as you don’t get in their way.)</p><p>They take adjacent shower stalls and Nick borrows Jamie’s soap and shampoo—and after, back in Jamie’s room, Jamie climbs into his bed and expects, unthinkingly, for Nick to follow. It’s where they always hang out.</p><p>Instead, Nick hovers by the foot of the bed. “So do you want me to take the couch, or Dan’s bed, or…?”</p><p>Jamie hadn’t really thought about it. They shared a bed the night he stayed over at Nick’s. Then again, they were both plastered.</p><p>“We can share mine,” Jamie offers. It’s probably the best option, anyway. He can’t exactly offer up Dan’s bed without permission, and he knows from experience, falling asleep studying, that the couch is kind of a bitch to sleep on. “If you want.”</p><p>Nick’s mouth twitches, like he’s about to make a joke, but he changes his mind. Jamie’s glad for it. It wouldn’t have been the first time Nick’s joked like that, and Jamie usually doesn’t mind it—but with how shaken up he is from the jump (really, he feels like a completely different person), he knows it would have put him on edge. “Okay,” Nick says. “Thanks.”</p><p>Nick’s awkward when he climbs under the covers. The only light on is Jamie’s bedside lamp, so he can turn it off without getting up. It’s a tight fit, the two of them in Jamie’s twin bed, but it works. Jamie’s lucky he sleeps with two pillows. He puts on one Nick’s side of the bed, and Nick lays his head on it, getting comfortable.</p><p>Nick’s warm. Warmer than Jamie, anyway. The heat under the blankets feels like sitting by the fire in Jamie’s dad and step-mother’s house. Jamie tries not to think about how Nick’s wearing his clothes, or how Nick still smells like his shampoo.</p><p>Silence settles over the room, calm—not like the rushing river water that Jamie can still hear when he focuses just right. Jamie wonders if he’ll dream about it. Will it stay with him forever? Does he want it to?</p><p>It’s Nick who breaks the silence. His voice is a low, curious rumble over the patter of the rain outside. “Did you think you were gonna die? When you jumped?”</p><p>“I don’t know,” Jamie says. “Maybe. Kind of. But you were there, and I trusted you, so it didn’t matter.”</p><p>“Good. That means you’re getting closer to being free, my friend.”</p><p>“Yeah?”</p><p>“Yeah.” Nick smiles. So does Jamie. The silence returns, comfortable. Jamie listens to the rain and looks up at the yellow lamplight on the ceiling, and he’s almost too tired to notice when Nick starts to move beside him.</p><p>Wordlessly, Nick shifts his head until it’s lying on Jamie’s shoulder. Jamie resists the urge to hold his breath. It’s friendly. It’s a little more friendly than they’ve been before. It’s probably nothing. Still, when Jamie turns his head, the way Nick’s looking at him makes his heart do gymnastics—the same way it did when Nick stood up for Jamie that first day in class, and when Nick told Jamie he’d stay with him for Thanksgiving.</p><p>But it’s not like that. They’re friends. They’re more than friends, maybe—<i>“…God is the electricity that surges between them.”</i>—but not that.</p><p>But, because Jamie jumped from the bridge and lived and kind of feels like he can do anything, he asks Nick something that, any other time, he’d think was really fucking stupid. “Can I kiss you?”</p><p>Nick’s eyes change. He looks at Jamie like he’s studying him. In the seconds before he answers, Jamie’s heart threatens to burst right from his chest. It isn’t the answer Jamie’s expecting. “Yeah,” Nick says. “Okay.”</p><p>So Jamie does.<br/>
</p>
<hr/><p><br/>
“So,” Nick asks, “you wanna talk about it?”</p><p>The dining hall is closed for Thanksgiving break. The closest breakfast joint is a diner a block away from the edge of campus. They don’t take meal swipes, but the coffee’s pretty good, so it has its pros and cons.</p><p>Jamie wraps his hands around his mug, warming them. They’re still chilly from the walk over. “Not really.”</p><p>“Okay. Fair enough.” Nick gives Jamie a knowing look as he drags his fork through his breakfast—rice, beans, fried eggs, and hot sauce. It’s Nick’s tried and true hangover cure, which is just as good when he’s not hungover at all.</p><p>Jamie <i>doesn’t</i> want to talk about it. It was fine. It doesn’t have to be a whole thing. If they don’t talk about it, things can’t go to shit, and Jamie can pretend it never happened. But Jamie feels like Nick doesn’t want to let it go, which means Jamie can’t, either. “Do <i>you</i> wanna talk about it?”</p><p>Nick shrugs. “Are we gonna do it again?”</p><p>“Do you want to?”</p><p>“Up to you, Jamie. You’re in charge.” There’s something facetious in Nick’s voice. Jamie isn’t fully sure why. He can’t shake the feeling that Nick’s mocking him.</p><p>He doesn’t bring it up again.<br/>
</p>
<hr/><p><br/>
December, 2001.</p><p> </p><p>“God, I don’t wanna fucking do this,” Jamie groans, face down in his folded arms against the library table.</p><p>“Shhh!” someone at the next table hisses. Jamie raises his head, looks at Nick across the table, and rolls his eyes.</p><p>Nick smirks up from his notebook. “Then don’t.”</p><p>“Ugh. I have to.”</p><p>“There are some things we have to do that we don’t want to. This isn’t one of them.” Nick keeps his voice at a whisper. No one bothers him about it. “You’d pass anyway, right?”</p><p>“Probably, yeah. I don’t want to risk it.”</p><p>Jamie pulls his textbook closer, almost knocking down his most recent empty coffee cup in the process. He had four, before the campus coffee shop closed at ten. Now, it’s—Jamie checks his watch—almost 2 AM, which means his 1960s American History final is in six hours. Nick’s only sticking around because he has a paper due in two days.</p><p>Nick rarely actually studies. He doesn’t need to. He soaks up knowledge like a sponge soaks up water. Jamie envies him, sometimes.</p><p>Staring down at his textbook, Jamie tries to focus on a passage about Jack Kerouac, but the letters seem to get blurrier and smaller by the second. He props his head up on his hand, and when he still finds himself wanting to fall over, he crosses his arms over the open pages of his textbook and lays his head down again. <i>Maybe if I just rest for a few minutes…</i></p><p>“Jamie. Hey.”</p><p>Jamie stirs to Nick’s hand on his shoulder, shaking him awake, and a textbook page sticking to his cheek.</p><p>“What?” Jamie blinks against the library lights, then rubs his eyes against his forearm.</p><p>“You wanna leave?”</p><p>Shaking the tiredness from his head, Jamie straightens. He stares down at the wrinkled pages of his textbook, then slams it shut. “Fuck it,” he says. “Yeah.”</p><p>Jamie puts his things away in his backpack and bundles up while Nick does the same. He isn’t in a hurry to check the time—he knows Nick wouldn’t let him sleep through his final—but when he does, it’s only 3 AM. Factoring in the time it’ll take to get home, and the time he needs to walk to class in the morning, he can probably get about four and a half hours of real sleep before his exam. As he and Nick break through the library doors into the biting December night, his bed sounds more and more appealing.</p><p>Nick breathes hot air onto his fingers, rubbing his hands together before shoving them into his pockets. Jamie can see his breath in the air, like a ghost in the falling snow. Nick’s the kind of guy who won’t bundle up unless someone tells him to. While Jamie’s in a scarf and gloves, Nick’s wearing only his jacket.</p><p>“Did I tell you my parents want me to come home for Christmas?” Nick asks after a minute of silent walking, as they pass the church-turned-event-hall.</p><p>“Oh, shit. Really?”</p><p>“Yeah. They’re still pissed about Thanksgiving. Who knew they actually gave a shit whether I was around? Maybe the neighbors said something.”</p><p>“Are you going to?”</p><p>Nick smiles his crooked smile. “Fuck no. I’m gonna stay here with you.”</p><p>The route to the dorms takes them over the bridge, past the bench they used to climb over the railing on Thanksgiving. As they pass it, Jamie takes Nick’s bare hand in his gloved one and stops short. “Sit with me?”</p><p>Nick looks at Jamie with raised eyebrows.</p><p>“Just for a few minutes. I want to hang out a little more.”</p><p>“Yeah,” Nick says. “Okay.”</p><p>Jamie drops onto the bench, pulling Nick down with him. It’s colder here, with the chill from the river. Maybe it’s kind of stupid, that Jamie’s two seconds away from falling asleep or freezing to death and he’d still rather spend a few extra minutes with Nick.</p><p>It turns out he’s closer to falling asleep than he thought. He barely notices when his head falls onto Nick’s shoulder, his eyes slipping shut the second he lands.</p><p>“Hey, Jamie?”</p><p>Jamie blinks his eyes open, his cheek pressed into the cold leather of Nick’s jacket.</p><p>“This is nice and all, but I’m fucking cold.”</p><p>“Oh.” Jamie shoots upright. “Shit. Sorry. How long was I asleep?”</p><p>“Couple minutes.” Nick pats Jamie on the back, right between his shoulder blades. “Come on.”</p><p>Jamie doesn’t need Nick to help him up, but he lets him anyway. Nick’s hand stays on Jamie’s back the rest of the way to the dorms. Jamie’s building comes first, with Nick’s a few minutes away. Like always, they part at Jamie’s front doors.</p><p>Just before he turns to leave, Nick claps Jamie on the arm. “Hey,” he says. “Good luck.”</p><p>Jamie knows well enough that Nick doesn’t believe in luck. He smiles, and suddenly the chill doesn’t feel so bad. “Thanks.”</p><p>Nick stalks off with a salute, leaving Jamie alone to fumble with his building key. The promise of uninterrupted sleep carries him up the stairs to his hallway, and finally into his room. Dan is already asleep, so Jamie doesn’t turn the lights on. He just crawls into bed, shucking off his clothes and tossing them blindly to the floor, and double-checks that his alarm clock is set before passing out again.<br/>
</p>
<hr/><p><br/>
The day after finals are over, Nick and Jamie get in Nick’s car and hit the road. Nick doesn’t tell Jamie where they’re going, but Jamie doesn’t give a shit—he’d go anywhere as long as it meant getting off campus after the past two weeks of papers, exams, and library all-nighters.</p><p>The car warms up as Nick speeds past the campus border. Jamie sheds his gloves, scarf, and jacket, one by one. Nick brought a jacket with him, but tossed it in the backseat right away, now wearing only his flannel. His car is a few years old, and it smells like leather and air fresheners. Jamie’s only ever in it when he and Nick go to the liquor store to stock up, or to some of the restaurants in town when the dining hall is closed.</p><p>Nick’s first stop is an IHOP just off the highway. It’s mid-afternoon, but they both just woke up, so Jamie isn’t complaining. Hell, he wouldn’t be complaining anyway.</p><p>It’s over eggs, pancakes, and coffee that Nick finally divulges his grand plan for the day.</p><p>“So here it is,” Nick announces as he pulls a paper fortune teller from his jeans pocket. It’s just like the one from the bridge. “Pick a number.”</p><p>Jamie plays along. “Five.”</p><p>Nick opens and closes the fortune teller, over and over. <i>One, two, three, four, five.</i></p><p>“Color?”</p><p>“Blue.”</p><p>Nick opens the flap and turns it around to show Jamie. It’s an arrow, pointing downward. “The arrows point in different directions,” Nick says. “So we start driving and every time we hit an intersection, we ask it which way to go.”</p><p>Satisfied with Nick’s explanation, Jamie starts to dig into his pancakes again. “That doesn’t sound too bad.”</p><p>“Yeah. It’s random. We go where fate wants us to.”</p><p>“And if we end up on some serial killer’s murder farm?”</p><p>Nick grins, easy and confident. “Can’t argue with fate, Jamie.”</p><p>Once back in the car, Jamie gets comfortable in the passenger seat while Nick pops a CD into the CD player. All the CDs Nick keeps in his car are burned copies of the ones in his room, blank white and labeled in Sharpie. He skips a few songs, like he always does, always knowing exactly what he wants and where to find it. Nick nods along to the opening chords, and Jamie finds himself tapping along against the car door.</p><p> </p><p>
  <i>I don’t care if Monday’s blue</i>
</p><p>
  <i>Tuesday’s gray and Wednesday too</i>
</p><p>
  <i>Thursday, I don’t care about you</i>
</p><p>
  <i>It’s Friday, I’m in love…</i>
</p><p> </p><p>The windows stay rolled up against the cold, and the heat stays on full-blast. When they approach the first stoplight on the road, Nick hands Jamie the fortune teller. “Three,” he says.</p><p>“Okay.”</p><p>“Violet.”</p><p>Jamie opens it up. “Left.”</p><p>So Nick takes a left. The next turn is a right, and the one after that a U-turn. They keep going.</p><p>It’s just before 5 PM that the sun starts to set over the open Pennsylvania road they’ve ended up on. At least Jamie thinks they’re still in Pennsylvania. An hour later, Nick makes the unilateral decision to get something to eat and pulls into a McDonalds drive-through. “What do you want?”</p><p>“A couple McDoubles?” Jamie says. “Two?”</p><p>“Okay.”</p><p>“And some apple pies?”</p><p>They cruise out of the drive-through and onto the street again, with two paper bags and a large Coke in the cupholder. There are a few cars scattered in the parking lot, so Nick parks instead in an empty church lot down the street. He pulls into a corner spot, facing the trees bordering the lot, and shifts the car into park.</p><p>The same CD’s been playing since they started driving, so Nick pops it out and digs in the center console for a new one. When he finds what he’s looking for, he drops the case in the tray by the cupholders, pops the CD in, and skips to where he wants.</p><p> </p><p>
  <i>Punctured bicycle on a hillside desolate</i>
</p><p>
  <i>Will nature make a man of me yet…?</i>
</p><p> </p><p>“I like this,” Jamie says in between bites of his cheeseburger. “What is it?”</p><p>“You’re uncultured, Jamie. That’s why you need me.”</p><p>Nick picks up the plastic case and hands it over. In his handwriting, in Sharpie and all-caps, it reads: <i>THE SMITHS – THE SMITHS.</i></p><p>“The Smiths The Smiths,” Jamie reads aloud. He only says it like that to get a rise out of Nick. It seems to work. Nick shakes his head, laughing down into his own cheeseburger, and it feels intimate enough that Jamie has to look away.</p><p>He eats the rest of his burger and shoves the wrapper into one of the now-empty bags, suddenly regretting not getting a drink of his own. “Hey, can I have some soda?”</p><p>“It’s not my fault you didn’t get one,” Nick says through a mouthful of cheeseburger.</p><p>Jamie frowns.</p><p>“Dude, yeah. Of course you can have some. What do I look like, an asshole?” Nick passes the paper cup over. Jamie takes a long sip through Nick’s straw before setting it down in the cupholder. “I have weed in the glovebox, by the way. If you want some.”</p><p>“Yeah, fuck no. I’m not driving home high, and I’m not letting you drive me home high.”</p><p>“Fair enough.”</p><p>Jamie keeps eating, drinking Nick’s soda liberally between bites. “Do you know how to get home from here, anyway?”</p><p>“Yeah. I’m pretty sure I know how to get to the highway, and then we can take it all the way back. We’re probably not too far. We’ve basically been driving in circles.”</p><p>The cheeseburgers are gone in minutes, and then the apple pies. Nick finishes the last one, tosses the empty box and a few used napkins into the last remaining bag, and throws it all into the backseat. Jamie rests his hand on the center console, tapping along to the music.</p><p> </p><p>
  <i>So, what difference does it make?</i>
</p><p>
  <i>Oh, what difference does it make?</i>
</p><p>
  <i>Oh, it makes none…</i>
</p><p> </p><p>Nick straightens in his seat. Jamie expects him to pull out of the church lot and start on the way home—but instead, Nick reaches toward the center console. He brushes his knuckles against Jamie’s wrist, and Jamie loses all his breath at once. Slow and testing, Nick takes Jamie’s hand, intertwining their fingers.</p><p>God, Nick’s hand. His fingers slender, his skin smooth. Warm. <i>Hot.</i> Jamie feels like if he touches it too long he’ll burn. He looks into Nick’s eyes, a question in his own, and what passes between them is the same thing that’s been passing between them for months.</p><p>Nick breaks the silence. “Can I ask you something?”</p><p>Jamie kind of wants to say no, to get out of the car and run into the trees, and get lost and swallowed up by the night and never go back to Templeton at all. Instead, he nods.</p><p>“Why are you so fucking scared?”</p><p>Jamie inhales a sharp breath. “I’m not scared.”</p><p>“Come on, Jamie. What is it? Is it about fucking up our friendship? Do you have some kind of hang-up about being gay?”</p><p>“Why are you being an asshole?”</p><p>“Jamie. Listen. Living isn’t just about doing the things you don’t want to do. It’s about doing the things you want to do, even when you think you shouldn’t.”</p><p>“Nick.”</p><p>Nick lets go of Jamie’s hand and puts his own on Jamie’s shoulder. “It’s not gonna fuck up our friendship. It’s okay.”</p><p>“I don’t want to talk about this.”</p><p>“Okay. So let’s not talk about it. Let’s just do it.”</p><p>Jamie feels cracked wide open, but it would be stupid to deny that Nick’s right. He’s always right. He was right on the bridge, and he’s right now.</p><p>Living is about doing the things you want to do.</p><p>And Jamie wants to stop hiding and live for once.</p><p>So he thinks, <i>fuck it.</i></p><p>He leans over the center console, takes the back of Nick’s head in his hand, and kisses him.</p><p>Nick attaches himself to Jamie in a second. The hand he has on Jamie’s shoulder tightens, while the other grabs a fistful of Jamie’s shirt, keeping him close.</p><p>The kiss on Thanksgiving was chaste and fumbling. This one is different—with Nick’s hands on Jamie’s body and, before long, Nick’s tongue in his mouth.</p><p>Nick pulls away to catch his breath. “Push your seat back.”</p><p>Jamie doesn’t ask why—he just fumbles with the level until his seat drops sharply backward. Nick wastes no time clambering over the center console and into Jamie’s lap, straddling his lips.</p><p>“Oh,” Jamie breathes. His heart jackhammers in his chest. “Oh my God. Okay.”</p><p>“Is this okay?” Nick asks.</p><p>Jamie nods, licking his lips. He can still feel Nick on them. Nick runs his fingers through Jamie’s hair, messing it up, as Jamie pulls him in again—his hand on the back of Nick’s neck, swiping into Nick’s mouth with his tongue. Nick moans, and the sound makes Jamie feel like he’s about to lose his mind.</p><p>Jamie’s hard in his jeans and too bold to feel embarrassed, especially when he can feel that Nick is, too. He puts a hand on Nick’s hip, searching for the warmth of Nick’s body beneath all his layers. At Nick’s soft hum of affirmation, Jamie slips his hand under Nick’s flannel and shirt and settles it over bare skin.</p><p>“What do you want to do?” Nick asks, breaking the kiss.</p><p>“I think…” Jamie licks his lips. Nick puts a hand to Jamie’s chest, and it moves up and down along with Jamie’s breathing. “I want to finish this in my room.”</p><p>“Yeah. Okay.” Hurriedly, Nick gets off of Jamie and collapses back into the driver’s seat. He adjusts himself in his pants before pulling his seat back up. “Let’s go.”<br/>
</p>
<hr/><p><br/>
Back in Jamie’s room, the first thing Nick does is pin him against the wall—not kissing or touching, just looking at him, hands flat on Jamie’s chest and dark eyes fixed on his. It’s Jamie who moves first, his heart pounding heavy in his chest, bending down just slightly and nudging Nick’s lips with his own. Jamie sheds his jacket and Nick strips down to his short-sleeved t-shirt. His bare arms are a little mesmerizing, if only because Jamie rarely sees them. Jamie settles his hands over Nick’s biceps—they’re firmer than Jamie would have expected just from looking at him in his clothes—and slides them down to Nick’s elbows and back, just feeling him.</p><p>Jamie leans down for another kiss, tilting his head to get a deeper angle and feeling bolder by the second. Nick speaks up first. He breaks away from Jamie’s lips and asks, “Still scared?”</p><p>Jamie shakes his head. He is, but it doesn’t matter.</p><p>“Come on,” Jamie says. He kicks off his shoes and makes his way for the bed, and Nick follows, clambering into bed after him. When Nick climbs on top of Jamie and straddles his hips, it makes Jamie’s head spin just as much as it did in the car.</p><p>Jamie slides Nick’s shirt up to his waist, baring Nick’s stomach. He can’t tear his eyes away—from the smooth, olive skin, the waistband of Nick’s boxer-briefs peeking out above his jeans, the dark hair trailing under his waistband and dusting his hips. Nick rises, pulling his shirt over his head and tossing it aside, and all Jamie can do is stare at his bare chest.</p><p>He reaches up to touch as Nick bends down to kiss him again, palming over Nick’s chest before trailing fingers along the crease between Nick’s shoulder and neck. His body is warm, just like it was on Thanksgiving, when the two of them crowded into Jamie’s bed.</p><p>It’s different, being allowed to touch. Jamie slides his hand down Nick’s back, feeling over the muscle as it moves with the surge of his kiss. Jamie’s distracted enough that he barely hears it when Nick pushes up the hem of his shirt and asks, “You wanna take this off?”</p><p>“Oh,” Jamie stammers. “Okay. Yeah.”</p><p>Nick rises only long enough for Jamie to wrestle out of his shirt and toss it to the floor. He descends on Jamie again with a kiss, hands hot on Jamie’s skin, roaming up his sides and over his chest. With a soft groan, Jamie tips his head back into the pillow. Nick adjusts to the position by grazing his mouth across Jamie’s neck, just over his carotid, and asking, “Are you a virgin?”</p><p>Jamie’s breath catches in his throat. “Yeah.”</p><p>“Ever gotten a blowjob?”</p><p>Jamie laughs, breathless. “God, Nick. No, I haven’t.”</p><p>Nick’s mischievous smile is just about what Jamie expected from him. “You want one?”</p><p>What swells in Jamie’s chest isn’t fear, or anxiety, like before—he wouldn’t <i>say</i> it’s love, but hell, it might be. For Nick, and his crooked smile and bold streak and the way he always, always says what he means.</p><p>“Fuck,” Jamie breathes. “Yeah. Okay.” His hand falls from Nick’s shoulder and fists in the sheets as Nick presses a kiss to his neck, making him shiver. Nick moves down, lips hot over Jamie’s collarbone and down his sternum.</p><p>Jamie squirms as Nick kisses down his stomach, his heart thudding with the anticipation. He’d swear right now that he’s harder than he’s ever been in his life. When Nick starts to undo Jamie’s fly, Jamie takes over, kicking off his jeans and lying back while Nick settles between his legs.</p><p>And then he’s just in his boxer-briefs, his skin bare and tingling all over, and Nick’s mouth is so, so close. Nick pulls down the waistband. He wraps his fingers around Jamie, then his lips, and…</p><p>
  <i>Oh.</i><br/>
</p>
<hr/><p><br/>
Jamie wakes to Nick’s hand on his shoulder, sliding down his arm, indulgent in its touching. Either Nick’s noticed Jamie’s awake, or he’s talking to himself. “So. Jamie Burns rounds third base for the first time in his career. How’s it feel?”</p><p>Jamie laughs into his pillow. Nick’s hand slides over his back. “God, Nick.”</p><p>“You weren’t too bad on the giving end, either. You know, in case you were wondering.”</p><p>“Thanks, I guess.”</p><p>Nick pats Jamie a few times between his shoulder blades before rubbing his hand deep into the muscle. “You want to get breakfast?”</p><p>“Mm. Yeah. Gotta shower, though.”</p><p>“We could share,” Nick says. When Jamie rolls over and looks up, Nick’s smiling his crooked smile. “You know, save water.”</p><p>“Someone could see.”</p><p>“It’s winter break. There’s no one here.”</p><p>Jamie smiles, savoring his last few minutes in bed with Nick before he has to get up. “I’ll think about it.”<br/>
</p>
<hr/><p><br/>
January, 2002.</p><p> </p><p>Nick stays at Jamie’s dorm every night of break except the last one, because both their roommates are coming back in the morning and it would be too risky to cut it that close. The last thing Jamie needs is for Dan to find Nick in his bed. Dan hates Nick enough already—God knows why, since Nick’s never done anything to him.</p><p>In the morning, Jamie texts Nick to see if he wants to get breakfast. Nick doesn’t respond. He’s probably still asleep. So Jamie goes by himself and gets an extra coffee to-go, which he brings back to his room and nurses while he starts some of the reading for his upcoming classes.</p><p>Jamie’s at his desk when Dan gets back, bent over his textbook. He gives Dan a passing glance before ignoring him, like he always does.</p><p>“Hey, Jamie!” Dan says. Jamie looks over his shoulder again to see Dan drop his duffel bag onto his bed. On the desk, Jamie’s phone buzzes. He turns to glance at it. It’s a text from Nick.</p><p>
  <i>Sorry I missed breakfast. Hang later?</i>
</p><p>“Hey.” Jamie brushes Dan off, burying his head in his phone while he texts Nick back.</p><p>As much as Jamie wishes Dan would leave him alone, no luck. “So I was wondering, do you want to watch a movie tonight?”</p><p>They haven’t done that in a while. Not since the beginning of last year, when they were still trying to be friends. “Can’t,” Jamie says. “Busy.”</p><p>“Oh. Hanging out with Nick?”</p><p>Jamie glowers. <i>God, what an asshole.</i> “None of your business.”<br/>
</p>
<hr/><p><br/>
Jamie pulls his hoodie tight around his body. It’s a warm day for January, but it’s still January. Nick’s been waiting for a day like this. He doesn’t tell Jamie why they’re going to the train tracks, but it isn’t hard to guess.</p><p>Once there, Nick takes Jamie’s clammy hand. It might have made Jamie’s heart race if it wasn’t racing already. Nick pulls him along the tracks, about two miles past the station, far enough away for the train to pick up speed by the time it passes. They stumble through the gravel and the overgrown weeds, and eventually, the ground beneath them turns to grass. A field spreads out on either side of the tracks, yellow patches decaying in the afternoon sun.</p><p>“Here,” Nick says. He lets go of Jamie’s hand. The cold air tingles against Jamie’s sweaty palm. He shoves his hand into his pocket while Nick takes out his paper fortune teller.</p><p>“So?” Jamie asks.</p><p>“We’ve got two options. Stay or go. If our fate is to stay, we stand on the tracks until the train gets close.” Nick surveys Jamie for a reaction. Jamie just nods. “If not, we go home and forget about it.”</p><p>“Okay.”</p><p>“Okay.” Nick sounds impressed. “Pick a number.”</p><p>“Three.”</p><p>Jamie’s eyes don’t leave Nick’s hands as Nick manipulates the fortune teller. “Color?”</p><p>“Red.” It’s the color of Nick’s flannel. It’s the first thing that comes to mind.</p><p>Nick opens the flap, then turns the fortune teller around to show Jamie.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>
    <i>STAY</i>
  </p>
</div><p>There’s a miniscule smile on Nick’s face. “Cold feet?” he asks.</p><p>“No way.” Jamie shakes his head and takes a deep breath. “Let’s go.”</p><p>“Good.” Nicks tucks the fortune teller away, into the back pocket of his jeans. He holds out his hand. Jamie takes it.</p><p>They climb onto the tracks, and it’s a balancing act until they’re side by side, sneakers planted on the concrete crosstie between the rails. When Jamie gazes out over the tracks in front of him, in the direction of the soon-incoming train, it feels almost too calm. Nick squeezes Jamie’s hand, a silent <i>I’m here.</i> Jamie squeezes back. “When’s the train coming?” he asks.</p><p>“No idea,” Nick says. “It’ll be a surprise.”</p><p>The minutes pass, and Jamie doesn’t count them. As he waits, his hand getting sweatier in Nick’s by the second, his heart rate crescendos and falls, over and over. It might have been five minutes or twenty when the tracks start to tremble beneath his feet.</p><p>“Nick?” Jamie cries over the rising sound of the train’s horn.</p><p>“I got you,” Nick calls back.</p><p>Jamie squeezes his eyes shut. He can hear it getting closer. The tracks shake harder and harder. The brakes start to screech, but Jamie knows the train won’t stop in time. “Oh my god,” Jamie whispers. “Oh my god. Oh my god.”</p><p>“Hey!” Nick grabs the front of Jamie’s hoodie with both hands, yanking him close. Jamie’s eyes snap open. Nick stares into them. “It’s okay, Jamie. It’s you and me. It’s fate.”</p><p>“You and me,” Jamie echoes, even though he feels sick.</p><p>And then, Nick pushes Jamie away.</p><p>Jamie falls into the grass just as the train speeds by, landing hard on his back. The landing takes all the air from his lungs but he finds enough to scream Nick’s name until his throat feels raw, even as it gets swallowed up by the noise of the train. Nick is either safe on the other side or crushed against the tracks—Jamie can see it all too clearly—and until the train passes he has no fucking clue which.</p><p>When the train clears, so does the breath Jamie’s been holding, because Nick is right there lying in the grass. Jamie’s brain shuts off as he scrambles across the tracks, scraping his palms on the steel rails and running on pure need as he collides into Nick, desperate to make sure Nick is okay.</p><p>Nick is okay, and Jamie still isn’t thinking, so he hauls Nick close by the front of his shirt and kisses him. And then he does think—that they’re <i>basically in public in the middle of the day, Jamie, what the fuck are you doing</i>—but by then Nick’s grabbing him back and kissing him back and Jamie couldn’t stop if he wanted to.</p><p>Nick pulls away, questioning between eager kisses, “Hey. Jamie. Hey. What are you doing?”</p><p>Jamie takes the opportunity to catch his breath. “I don’t know. Kissing you.”</p><p>“What, the adrenaline feels good? Turns you on?”</p><p>Why does Nick always have to understand Jamie like this? Jamie nods.</p><p>“Okay,” Nick says, in that way he does when he’s learned something new about Jamie. He leans in to attack Jamie’s lips again, ferocious and hot in the chilly air. Nick’s hand goes to Jamie’s hair, and Jamie’s tangles in Nick’s, as they tumble together into the grass.</p><p>It’s warm for January, but it’s still too cold to undress. They manage with hands slid up shirts and under waistbands, and the chance of getting caught only makes it sweeter.<br/>
</p>
<hr/><p><br/>
February, 2002.</p><p> </p><p>Jamie and Nick don’t hold hands—they wouldn’t even if they didn’t go to a Catholic school—but sometimes, on the way back from class to the dorms, they walk close enough to brush shoulders. Templeton has apparently been infected with the Valentine’s Day fever, with red and pink paper hearts strung up along the rails of the bridge, probably by some student club. It’s Nick who points them out. “Jamie. Look.”</p><p>Jamie can tell from the tone in Nick’s voice that he’s about to impart some of his famous wisdom. “What, you don’t like Valentine’s Day?”</p><p>“I hate it.”</p><p>“Let me guess.” Jamie nudges Nick with his elbow and grins. “It’s a meaningless capitalist ritual invented by the chocolate lobby. Or is it the condom lobby?”</p><p>“Hah! You got me. Seriously, though, I like chocolate and sex as much as the next guy, but I don’t need Hallmark to tell me when to have either.”</p><p>Nick talking about sex still makes Jamie feel a little weird. It’s weird in a good way.</p><p>“Besides,” Nick says. “Society feeds us all these stupid ideas about romance. That you’re supposed to woo a girl and buy her a heart-shaped box of chocolates once a year until it’s time to pay the government to let you get married. And then you move to the suburbs and get a picket fence and have boring kids, and you hang out with your boring married friends and have boring married conversations. And that’s the only way to be happy.”</p><p>Jamie laughs, rubbing his hand over the back of his neck. “So I take it you don’t want to get married.”</p><p>“That life isn’t for guys like you and me.”</p><p>“Hey. I like women.”</p><p>“That’s not the point. The point is that it’s bullshit.”</p><p>Jamie shrugs. “I don’t know.”</p><p>“It is,” Nick insists, meeting Jamie’s eyes with a sparkle in his own and a cheeky twitch of a smile. “It’s boring bullshit for people whose idea of kinky is doing doggy style instead of missionary.”</p><p>Jamie laughs down at the ground. “Some professor’s gonna hear you.”</p><p>“Ehh, I don’t give a shit.”</p><p>So when Nick comes over to Jamie’s room on Valentine’s Day, and Dan is away on some date, they don’t do anything out of the ordinary. And when they end up making out in Jamie’s bed, it’s not because of some bullshit holiday.<br/>
</p>
<hr/><p><br/>
When Nick flops into Jamie’s bed, it’s with all the relief of being done with a particularly rough week of classes. Nick usually stays over on Friday nights (and almost always on Saturday nights). Even though Dan’s boring as shit, Jamie’s lucky to have a roommate who goes home nearly every weekend. (Dan goes home more and more often lately. Jamie’s pretty sure it has something to do with him, but he also doesn’t give a shit.) Even so, maybe he can room with Nick next year. Jamie locks the door behind him and collapses beside Nick in bed.</p><p>When he lands next to Nick, Jamie’s eyes travel over Nick’s face—the dark lashes of Nick’s closed eyes, the striking profile of his nose, the minute curve of his lips. When he’s calm, like this, Nick looks just as tranquil in life as Jamie imagines he would in death.</p><p>(Not that Jamie imagines it often.)</p><p>Nick turns his head. His eyes slip open. “I want to try something new tonight,” he says, looking just as serious as he did on the bridge.</p><p>Jamie doesn’t know whether to be excited or terrified. “What is it?”</p><p>Nick reaches into the pocket of his jeans and pulls out his pocketknife. It’s the one he carries around all the time—the one he used to carve <i>“UBERMENSCH”</i> into Jamie’s headboard back in November, so Jamie wouldn’t forget.</p><p>(Jamie doesn’t think he could forget. He thinks about Nick all the time.)</p><p>“Give me your hand,” Nick says.</p><p>Jamie obeys. Nick takes Jamie’s hand and presses his thumb into Jamie’s palm, testing its give. Then, he slides his hand downward to curl his fingers gently around Jamie’s wrist. With his other hand, Nick presses the closed pocketknife into Jamie’s palm. The feeling of the smooth steel on his skin makes Jamie’s breath hitch in his throat. So does the knowledge of what hides inside it.</p><p>“My grandfather’s,” Nick says. “He gave it to me when I was a kid.”</p><p>“Is he still alive?”</p><p>“No.”</p><p>“I’m sorry.”</p><p>“I don’t <i>care,</i> Jamie. Everyone dies. He was like ninety. That’s not the point.”</p><p>“Are you gonna cut me?” Jamie asks.</p><p>“Yeah.” Nick licks his lips. The look in his eyes is like nothing Jamie’s seen before. “That okay?”</p><p>Jamie flexes his fingers around the pocketknife. His heart flutters in his chest. “Why?”</p><p>“You want to ditch the bullshit and be free,” Nick says. It’s not even a question. Jamie nods. “It’s one of the things you have to overcome if you really want to break out of the mold. Fear. Your conscience. Pain.”</p><p>Jamie nods again, urging Nick to go on.</p><p>“Pain,” Nick says, his face just inches from Jamie’s, “is the gateway. To something bigger than us. You get it, right?”</p><p>“Yeah. Yeah, of course.” Jamie laughs, only because he’s nervous. It’s close to the way he feels when Nick’s about to kiss him, but so intense he feels like he could shake right out of his skin.</p><p>“Good.” Nick takes the pocketknife from Jamie’s hand, closing it in his palm. He traces a horizontal line across Jamie’s palm with the tip of his index finger. Jamie shivers. “Just like that.”</p><p>“Okay,” Jamie agrees.</p><p>“Okay?” Nick asks, like he expects more resistance.</p><p>“Yeah. Okay. Do it.”</p><p>“You want to do me first?”</p><p>“No, you do me first.”</p><p>“Okay.” Nick sits up in bed, crossing his legs, and opens the pocketknife. Jamie mirrors his position. “Don’t chicken out on me after I do it, though. I need you, too.”</p><p>“I won’t,” Jamie promises. He gives Nick his hand.</p><p>After—when two shallow cuts have been made and Nick’s pocketknife folded back into its handle and dropped into the sheets—Nick placed his injured hand over Jamie’s cheek. Jamie nuzzles into the touch as Nick guides him close, pulling Jamie’s forehead flush against his. Nick’s other hand splays over the side of Jamie’s neck, over his pulse, before sliding up to cup Jamie’s other cheek. “So,” Nick says. “What do you think?”</p><p>“I think—” Jamie grins. “—you’re getting blood all over my face. You fucking animal.”</p><p>Nick chuckles. “Okay.” He pulls his bloody hand away and drops it palm-up in his lap, the same way Jamie’s doing. “Really, though. You okay? You feel good?”</p><p>Despite the stinging in Jamie’s hand, what really hurts is that Jamie does feel good. He feels a lot of things—in a slurry of everything he’s been running toward and everything he’s been running away from. The more he focuses on the cut, the more it overwhelms him, and Jamie doesn’t notice the wetness in his eyes until Nick’s hand comes away from his face, fingertips glistening with Jamie’s tears. “You’re crying,” Nick says.</p><p>Jamie just shrugs and hiccups out an embarrassed laugh. Nick puts his hand to the back of Jamie’s neck. He pulls Jamie’s head against his shoulder and Jamie goes, tucking his face into the crook of Nick’s neck. Nick doesn’t have to ask, which is good, because Jamie couldn’t explain it if he tried. He doesn’t say anything, until a new flood of tears forces its way out of his body. “Shit,” he mutters.</p><p>“Hey, it’s okay.” Nick presses a kiss into Jamie’s neck. His hand slides over Jamie’s back, rubbing up and down his spine. “It’s good. Feels real, doesn’t it?”</p><p>Jamie nods. “Yeah.”</p><p>“It’s how it’s supposed to feel.”</p><p>Jamie puts his uninjured hand over Nick’s beating heart, feeling Nick’s body close. He takes in the scent of Nick with every labored breath. It’s grounding.</p><p>After a while, Nick pats Jamie’s back. “Jamie. Jamie. Sit up.” Jamie peels his face from Nick’s neck and straightens to meet Nick’s eyes. The tears run freely down his face. “You did good. So good.” Nick’s hand goes to the back of Jamie’s neck again, and he stretches up to press a kiss to Jamie’s forehead. “Okay?”</p><p>Jamie nods. His labored breathing starts to steady. “Okay,” he says. He wipes his eyes with his uninjured hand. His smile is only half-forced. “Okay. So can I patch us up now, or is that against the rules?”</p><p>“Jamie,” Nick says, grinning. “You can do whatever you want.”<br/>
</p>
<hr/><p><br/>
March, 2002.</p><p> </p><p>“Hey,” Nick calls out. Jamie, who was eyeing the row of liquor bottles lined up behind the bar, turns to him. Nick holds a quarter up in front of him, in his still-bandaged hand (Jamie’s is, too), like it’s a holy object.</p><p>Jamie’s buzzed already. He’s been going shot for shot with Nick on whiskey for the past half hour. There aren’t many bars in the town around Templeton; this isn’t one of the good ones, but it’s one of the cheap ones.</p><p>Jamie looks over the coin, and over Nick, with eyes that can’t seem to keep their focus.</p><p>“Heads,” Nick says, “I go talk to that guy.”</p><p>Nick nods in the direction of a guy sitting a few stools down. To Jamie’s alcohol-addled brain, the guy looks about seven feet tall. He also looks like he could have just gotten out of prison. Maybe in the past ten minutes. “What?”</p><p>“You wanna flip it for me?” The wicked smile on Nick’s face tells Jamie he plans to do more than talk.</p><p>“Are you talking about getting into a fight? Nick, what the fuck?”</p><p>“If it’s my fate, I have to.”</p><p>“Nick,” Jamie says. “No.”</p><p>Nick’s eyes burn dark and serious. “You don’t get to tell me what to do.”</p><p>“You’re drunk!”</p><p>Nick flips the coin.</p><p>He catches it, then slams it against the back of his palm. He gives Jamie a cheeky look before peeking under his hand. “Heads,” he whispers.</p><p>Jamie’s chest starts to feel tight. The adrenaline’s taking away his buzz more and more by the second. “No.”</p><p>“You know better than to argue with fate, Jamie.” Nick slams the rest of his drink and slides off the barstool.</p><p>Elbows on the counter, Jamie drops his head into his hands. “Fuck,” he mutters to himself. Then he peeks down the bar, because he has to watch. Nick’s doing as promised. He’s talking. Jamie can only imagine what he’s saying. And then the guy takes a swing.</p><p>The guy’s drunk enough that Nick manages to dodge it. Jamie watches, nearly paralyzed, as Nick grabs an empty beer bottle from the bar top. <i>Oh my God,</i> he thinks.</p><p>Jamie’s already leaping from his barstool by the time Nick starts to swing. He jumps Nick, grabbing his wrist and botching his throw. The bottle shatters against the wall.</p><p>“Jamie!” Nick screams, trying to wrestle out of Jamie’s grip. “Get the fuck off!”</p><p>“No.”</p><p>The firmness in Jamie’s voice stuns Nick immobile, just long enough to get him to stop fighting Jamie’s death-grip on his arm. He yanks Nick the few feet back to where they were sitting.</p><p>“We’re leaving,” Jamie says to the guy, before throwing a wad of bills onto the counter. “Buy yourself a drink. On me.”</p><p>“I’m not fucking leaving,” Nick spits.</p><p>“We’re fucking leaving.”</p><p>Nick’s resigned himself to his fate by now, letting Jamie drag him out of the bar and onto the sidewalk. Jamie’s hand doesn’t leave Nick’s arm, clasped tight through Nick’s flannel. It’s a cool night out, but the way Nick’s seething, Jamie feels like if he touched Nick’s skin he would burn.</p><p>The mist in the air blurs the headlights from the few passing cars. Jamie’s not drunk enough to deal with this. He’s also not sober enough to deal with this. The bus stop is only a couple minutes’ walk away, and the walk helps to clear Jamie’s head.</p><p>When the bus pulls up, after a few minutes, Jamie drags Nick onto it. He flashes his student transit pass and elbows Nick until Nick does the same, then pulls Nick to a pair of empty seats. Jamie takes the window seat and Nick slumps down into the aisle one.</p><p>Nick’s silent and pouting for most of the bus ride. Jamie stares out the window, past the speckles of rain on the glass and out into the streetlit night.</p><p>“What the hell?” Nick says, eventually.</p><p>Jamie doesn’t look at him. “You’re a drunk idiot.”</p><p>“You’re a drunk asshole.”</p><p>“Fuck off. At least I’m not the one trying to get myself punched in the face tonight.”</p><p>“Oh, you’re not?” It’s the venom in Nick’s voice that finally makes Jamie turn his head.</p><p>“Come on,” Jamie says. “You wouldn’t hurt me.”</p><p>Nick raises his eyebrows. The fingers of Jamie’s left hand close over the bandage wrapped around his palm.</p><p>“Okay, you wouldn’t hurt me without <i>asking</i> first.”</p><p>Nick drops his head against the back of his seat and slips his eyes shut, a small smile curling his lips. “Nah,” he says. “I wouldn’t hurt you.”</p><p>Despite himself, Jamie softens. “Hey,” he says, holding out his hand. After a second, Nick takes it in his own, clasping bandage over bandage.<br/>
</p>
<hr/><p><br/>
Studying with Nick remains a constant in Jamie’s life—even though Nick’s still breezing by with barely any effort, and Jamie’s letting most of his classes go by the wayside except for philosophy, if only because he likes to talk about it with Nick.</p><p>Their philosophy professor last semester was a hack. Their new professor isn’t the worst, but she’s still teaching a Catholic curriculum, and according to Nick, that just isn’t compatible with what he and Jamie are trying to achieve.</p><p>Jamie’s in bed, lying on his stomach with his textbook open in front of him. He reads the interesting passages aloud to Nick and takes notes on the ones that might be useful for his upcoming paper. Nick’s settled in on the couch, reading something of his own. Jamie doesn’t pay him much mind until Nick grabs his attention with a sudden, “Hey, Jamie.”</p><p>“What’s up?”</p><p>“I’ve been thinking about something.”</p><p>Jamie finishes scribbling down the last sentence in his notes while he answers. “Yeah?”</p><p>“Seriously. Listen to me.”</p><p>Jamie looks up. Nick’s lying on his back, his book closed and bookmarked on his stomach. His dark eyes are dead-set on Jamie.</p><p>“Morality’s a human invention, right?” Nick asks.</p><p>Jamie shrugs. “Yeah, I guess so.”</p><p>“So if we overcame it, we could do anything we wanted.”</p><p>“Okay,” Jamie says. “Like what?”</p><p>“What’s the most extreme act you can think of?”</p><p>Jamie thinks about it.  “Murder, I guess.”</p><p>Nick nods minutely.</p><p>Maybe Jamie should be more uneasy, after what happened at the bar last week. But he’s pretty sure Nick didn’t want to kill anyone then—he just wanted to get into a bar fight. Nick’s usually pretty straightforward with what he wants. He always tells Jamie the rules of the game before anything happens. Jamie isn’t too worried about it, so he plays along. “Alright. So who’d you have in mind?”</p><p>“It doesn’t really matter. That’s not the point.”</p><p>“Why do it if it doesn’t matter?”</p><p>“You do it <i>because</i> it doesn’t matter,” Nick says. “Because there’s no reason not to, other than the flawed ideas of right and wrong we get spoon-fed from the time we’re born. If we reject those, we can do anything.”</p><p>“Including going to prison,” Jamie points out.</p><p>“Please. We could do it without getting caught.” Nick grins. “Besides, so what if it’s illegal? So’s weed and underage drinking and fake IDs. You and me fucking would’ve been illegal fifty years ago. Illegal doesn’t mean shit for us. We’re better than that.”</p><p>“Dude.” Jamie frowns. “Don’t compare you and me fucking to actually killing someone. What’s wrong with you?”</p><p>“I’m just trying to say, all the rules we think bind our behavior are completely arbitrary. We don’t have to follow them if we don’t want to. We have a duty not to, if it means breaking free and knowing the truth.” Nick sits up from the couch, planting his feet on the floor and clasping his hands in front of him. “And why do we have those rules? Because of morality? Because of God? ‘Animals kill every day, God doesn’t strike them down.’”</p><p>“Yeah, I read that one,” Jamie says. “Besides, we create God.”</p><p>“Exactly. We can create our own morality, too.”</p><p>The serious look in Nick’s eyes strikes Jamie to his core. “You really want to do this, don’t you?”</p><p>Nick doesn’t answer.</p><p>“I’m not talking about this anymore.”</p><p>“Okay. We can talk about it later.” Nick lies back down on the couch, kicking his feet up onto the cushion and opening his book again. Jamie accepts the temporary reprieve, digging into his textbook again even though he can barely focus. After a few minutes, Nick speaks up again. “I want to go up to the new building tomorrow. You’ll come with me, right?”</p><p>“Yeah,” Jamie sighs. “Of course I’ll come with you.”<br/>
</p>
<hr/><p><br/>
The thing about Nick is that, despite his flaws, Jamie needs him. He sometimes thinks he’d die without Nick, trapped in a world he doesn’t belong in without something real to hang on to. It’s why he agrees to go up to the roof of one of the new buildings on campus when Nick asks. Construction only just finished, and it won’t hold classes until the summer semester, so there’s no one around to stop them.</p><p>(If they get caught—just like if they’d gotten caught jumping off the bridge—they could get expelled. Jamie isn’t worried about it. Like Nick said, back on Thanksgiving: <i>“Anything you gain in this life, you’ll eventually have to lose.”</i>)</p><p>The ledge around the rooftop is about one foot high and two wide. At Nick’s urging, Jamie climbs onto it first. He holds his breath until he’s steady, both feet solidly planted on the concrete. It would have been ten times more terrifying before he met Nick.</p><p>“Here we go ‘round the prickly pear, the prickly pear, the prickly pear.” Nick circles behind Jamie, eventually stopping by Jamie’s right side and climbing onto the edge. “Here we go ‘round the prickly pear,” he whispers, inches away from Jamie’s ear. “At 5:00 in the morning.”</p><p>Nick’s hand grazes Jamie’s back, and Jamie nearly jumps out of his skin. “Shit,” he breathes.</p><p>Nick sends Jamie a sideways smile. “You okay?”</p><p>“Yeah, I’m fine.” From here, Jamie can see all of campus and some of the town surrounding it, past the woods and the exit roads. When he looks down, he can feel—somewhere in his chest—every inch of the drop to the ground.</p><p>Like he’s falling already.</p><p>Jamie takes in and lets out a shaky breath. No deep water here.</p><p>“So?” Nick asks, his voice a low rumble in the early spring breeze. “What do you think?”</p><p>“About what?”</p><p>“You wanna jump?”</p><p>Jamie’s head whips toward Nick. “What?”</p><p>“Jamie, relax. I didn’t bring you here for a suicide pact.”</p><p>“Why did you bring me here?”</p><p>“To see the edge,” Nick says. “Without any distractions. You don’t have to jump. You don’t have to be scared. You just have to feel it.”</p><p>Nick reaches out to Jamie, brushing Jamie’s knuckles with his own. Jamie takes Nick’s hand. He’s terrified simultaneously of clutching Nick’s hand too hard, in case Nick does jump, and not clutching hard enough, in case he somehow falls over the edge and Nick has to pull him back up.</p><p>Jamie closes his eyes. The wind blows through his hair and caresses his face. He stands there for a long while, silent, Nick’s hand in his. The time that passes doesn’t reach him. Nothing reaches him, except the emptiness that opens up in front of him and threatens to pull him right in. It surrounds Jamie just like the breeze.</p><p>Even with his eyes shut, Jamie can see.</p><p>He sees himself squeezing Nick’s hand as hard as he can, so Nick can’t let go. He sees himself taking a step forward, and then another. He sees himself falling, pulling Nick down with him, and it feels like peace.</p><p>There’s nothing left to be afraid of when it’s already done.</p><p>They plummet downward—nothing left beneath their feet, nothing left around them but each other—and it only takes seconds until…</p><p>Jamie blinks his eyes open. His feet are still on the ledge. His hand is still in Nick’s. He can hardly breathe. “Oh. Oh my God.”</p><p>“What is it with you and God?” Nick glances over with a smirk. It fades as soon as he sees Jamie’s face. “What’s wrong?”</p><p>Jamie shakes his head. He lets go of Nick’s hand and stumbles backward off the ledge. He scrambles back until his hand finds the concrete barrier surrounding the stairwell, and he collapses against it, sinking to the floor of the roof. Nick is by his side in seconds, kneeling next to him and placing a comforting hand on his shoulder. “Jamie, what’s wrong?”</p><p>Jamie’s breathing comes ragged. He pulls his knees up to his chest and drops his head into his hands, choking out the words. “I… I don’t know. I think I wanted to jump.”</p><p>“Jamie, that’s okay. Everyone wants to jump.”</p><p>“No, it was more than that.” Jamie looks up, pleading, into Nick’s face. “It was almost like it was really happening.”</p><p>“Really?” Nick’s eyes sparkle. The corner of his mouth twitches.</p><p>“Don’t look at me like that. It was fucking terrifying.”</p><p>“Mm.” Nick nudges Jamie forward off the barrier, just enough to slip his hand behind Jamie and rub at his back. “Okay.”</p><p>Jamie slumps forward, wrapping his arms around his folded-up legs. He turns again to Nick. “How come you’re not scared?”</p><p>“What do you mean?”</p><p>Jamie shakes his head, looking for the words. “Whenever we do this stuff, I’m always the one that’s fucking terrified and you’re, like… like it doesn’t affect you at all. Like all you’re doing is fucking with me.”</p><p>“Jamie.” Nick’s eyes are deep and severe. So is his voice. “I’m scared all the fucking time.”</p><p>Jamie blinks away the sudden threat of tears. “You are?”</p><p>“That’s the reason I do all this.”</p><p>Jamie nods. He drops his head against Nick’s chest, closing his eyes. Nick’s hand stays on Jamie’s back, and his other one cups Jamie’s head, holding him close.</p><p>Eventually, when Jamie’s had too much of being on the roof and just wants to go home, he mumbles against Nick’s shirt, “We should leave.”</p><p>“Yeah, we can do that.” Nick helps Jamie up with an arm around his waist. “Come on.”<br/>
</p>
<hr/><p><br/>
By late March, the ground is malleable enough to dig. That was one of Nick’s considerations. He’s been talking about this for a while. His other consideration was that he and Jamie wouldn’t freeze to death underground.</p><p>It’s a Sunday. Nick drags Jamie out of bed at 9 AM and the two of them descend into the woods surrounding campus with a shovel, a few wooden boards, and a long plastic breathing tube.</p><p>Jamie’s more athletic than most people, but the digging still does a number on him. Nick has a harder time, but he barely shows it. They take turns digging, and enough water breaks that they won’t be too dehydrated when they go underground. It isn’t until mid-afternoon that the grave is deep enough to bury someone in. Jamie’s the one who finishes it, tossing the shovel haphazardly up into the grass when he’s done. It’s about as deep as he is tall. Nick reaches in and clasps Jamie’s arm, helping him climb out.</p><p>Standing beside Nick above the grave, Jamie surveys their handiwork. Tree roots poke out of the walls of the grave like little hands, reaching, grabbing. <i>So this is it,</i> Jamie thinks. <i>Where you go when you die.</i></p><p>Knowing is one thing. Seeing is different. It’s not Heaven, or Hell, or anything like that. It’s dirt, and roots, and the irresistible calling to sink deep inside and let it take you.</p><p>“God,” Jamie says. “It’s kind of macabre.”</p><p>“’To what base uses we may return, Horatio.’” Nick rests a dirt-streaked hand on Jamie’s shoulder. “You did a good job. How are you feeling?”</p><p>Jamie looks up from the grave and turns to Nick. Nick’s hair is sticking to his forehead and neck around the edges, damp with sweat. He took off his flannel a while ago, his arms now bare. “I’m fine,” Jamie says. He’s a little out of breath. “I think.”</p><p>“You ready?” Nick reaches into his jeans pocket and pulls out a quarter. Jamie nods. “You want heads or tails?”</p><p>“Heads.”</p><p>“Okay,” Nick says. “Heads, you go in first. Tails, I go in first.”</p><p>Nick flips the coin, catches it, and slams it on the back of his hand. Silently, he shows it to Jamie. <i>Tails.</i></p><p>“You first,” Jamie says.</p><p>Nick smiles. “Me first.”</p><p>After pocketing the quarter again, Nick settles both his hands on Jamie’s face, pulling Jamie in to press their foreheads together. Jamie drinks in the closeness, knowing it won’t last long.</p><p>Looking into Jamie’s eyes, Nick smirks. “You better not forget me down there, Burns.”</p><p>“I won’t.” <i>I could never forget you,</i> Jamie wants to say, but he knows that’s not really what Nick’s talking about.<br/>
</p>
<hr/><p><br/>
April, 2002.</p><p> </p><p>Spring break is starting soon, but Jamie hasn’t been going to class anyway.</p><p>His disciplinary hearing has been going on for almost a week now. Since then, he’s been holed up in his room. All of Dan’s things are gone. Jamie’s lava lamp is gone, too. The police probably took it—or what was left of it, anyway.</p><p>Jamie’s lying in bed, staring at the empty side of the room, when he hears a knock at the door. He already has a pretty good idea of who it is. “What?” he calls.</p><p>“Landshark?” Nick’s voice answers from behind the door. Jamie reluctantly gets up to open it. What a surprise: it’s Nick. “April Fools’,” Nick says, standing in the doorway. “It’s me.”</p><p>Jamie doesn’t let him in. “It’s not April Fools’.”</p><p>“Well yeah, but you wouldn’t answer my calls yesterday, so.”</p><p>“Do you want something?”</p><p>“I thought we could hang out,” Nick says. “I brought weed. I’ll buy you food. Whatever you want.”</p><p>“I want you to leave.”</p><p>Nick’s brows knit. He shifts his weight from foot to foot. “What’s going on with you?”</p><p>Jamie sighs. His fingers tighten around the edge of the door. “You know what happened.”</p><p>“Yeah, you brained Danny-Boy with a lava lamp.”</p><p>“Goddamnit, Nick! It’s not funny!”</p><p>“Okay, so it’s not. But how the fuck is that my fault?”</p><p>(Because Jamie came out of that grave thinking he really was superhuman—because who else could touch death and come out alive? Because Jamie finally gave himself permission to feel all his animal hatred and violent impulse and Dan made the innocent mistake of getting in his way.</p><p>Because Jamie listened to Nick.</p><p>He never should have listened at all.)</p><p>“Because you’re insane and you’re ruining my life and I can’t do this anymore.”</p><p>Nick stares, gears turning behind his eyes, like he’s trying to put the pieces together.</p><p>“I don’t like what you’re turning me into,” Jamie says, finally.</p><p>“Jamie…”</p><p>“I really don’t want you to be here.”</p><p>Nick takes a step back. He gapes at Jamie, like he’s realizing for the first time that Jamie really does want him gone. “What the fuck, Jamie?”</p><p>“Get out.”</p><p>“No.”</p><p>“Get out or I’ll call campus security.”</p><p>“Fuck that—”</p><p>Instead of arguing, Jamie just slams the door. He’s too tired to deal with Nick anymore. Now or ever. He crawls back into bed, where he decides for the final time that he’s leaving Templeton and never looking back.<br/>
</p>
<hr/><p><br/>
October, 2019.</p><p> </p><p>
  <i>Come to me now</i>
</p><p>
  <i>Like you did then</i>
</p><p>
  <i>Pretty and slow</i>
</p><p>
  <i>Pretty and thin…</i>
</p><p> </p><p>“Is that okay?” Jamie asks, softly, knelt beside the turned-over car.</p><p>When Nick speaks, his voice is barely a whisper. “Yeah,” he says. Jamie has to strain to hear.</p><p>Jamie caresses Nick’s face, wiping blood from Nick’s eye with his thumb. When he pulls his hand away, Nick smiles. Jamie thinks of college. He thinks of the Nick he knew. The long hair and flannels and music and crooked smiles—the same one he’s smiling now, even as he’s bleeding to death on the side of the road.</p><p>Jamie rises up on his knees. He puts his hand on Nick’s forehead, rubbing gently with his thumb. Then, he presses his lips to Nick’s. Nick kisses Jamie with all of the effort he can find. He chases Jamie’s lips weakly when Jamie pulls away.</p><p>“Thank you,” Nick rasps. “Jamie.”</p><p>“Yeah,” Jamie says. He doesn’t know what else he could say. “Of course.”</p><p>For an hour and fifteen minutes, Jamie watches Nick die. He thought he touched death in college. It doesn’t compare to this.</p><p>Jamie cries and begs Nick to let him call 911—and Nick soothes him, and tells him it’s okay, just like he used to.</p><p>“You’re good,” Nick says. <i>“So</i> good.”</p><p>Jamie looks up at Nick with tears in his eyes.</p><p>“Promise me. You’re gonna keep going. Yeah?”</p><p>Jamie promises. How couldn’t he? It’s the least he could give Nick.</p><p>It’s an hour and fifteen minutes, but Jamie isn’t counting. And then, Nick is gone. Jamie’s hand falls from Nick’s arm as he collapses to the ground. Silence settles all too easily in the empty night, over the road where Jamie’s now alone.</p><p>Jamie rises on his knees to kiss Nick’s lips again. They’re still warm. This time, Nick doesn’t kiss back. Jamie falls back onto the asphalt, his eyes stinging with tears. This is it.</p><p>This is what he wanted.</p><p>Jamie calls 911. He doesn’t entertain the possibility that it’s not too late. It is too late. Nick is dead in front of him, torn up and bleeding, and the only reprieve Jamie can find is that Nick is no longer in pain.</p><p>Nick said Jamie was going to be okay.</p><p>How could he be okay?</p><p>In college, Nick had all the answers. Even now, Jamie’s half-sure that Nick’s whole thing was bullshit that did nothing but get him to drop out of school. <i>(But only half-sure.)</i> When Nick came back, he still had all the answers, and Jamie needed answers.</p><p>Jamie needs answers, now. He hopes Nick’s right.</p><p>He wants to be okay.</p><p>So Jamie goes to the hospital when the paramedics come. He answers all their questions. He gets himself stitched up and he lets Leela take him home and tells her <i>I’m fine</i>—and maybe then he can pretend it’s true.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>beta'd by <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/jacketarearmpants">Jacket</a></p><p> </p><p>  <a href="https://open.spotify.com/playlist/4RE0QTa7ElJLRjKHlKuZOl?si=YjiBCTs0Q5ad-cePCG92lw">check out my jamie/nick playlist on spotify</a></p></blockquote></div></div>
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